


What We Need is a Symbol

by LibraLibrary



Series: Twelve Highlanders and a Bagpiper [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Darkwing is a costume the real hero is Drake, M/M, Missing Scene, early drakepad they aren’t like together yet but the feeling is there, he doesn’t have gosalyn yet but he’s already Dad Mode, minor descriptions of injury, part of a series I really need to work on more heehoo, this IS drake we’re talking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraLibrary/pseuds/LibraLibrary
Summary: The rebellion isn’t going so well. Neither is the retreat.A series of tales from the captured McDuck family (and friends).
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Series: Twelve Highlanders and a Bagpiper [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563658
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	What We Need is a Symbol

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written drakepad before but god they make me yearn and I promise by the end of this series there will be more of it.

I didn’t make any sense. They had a plan, and even if the plan failed, that had never stopped them before! Thinking on the fly and adapting to failure had always worked; it worked on Magica, on Glomgold, the Beagles, it  _ always _ worked. 

The McDuck family was never supposed to  _ lose.  _

But the orders coming through the Bulb were unambiguous: Lunaris had done it again. The plan had failed. All forces fall back and regroup at the agreed upon emergency meeting place as soon as possible. All forces that still  _ could, _ of course. Every inch of Launchpad was shouting at him to go back to the road, screaming that he needed to help his coworkers, he had to do SOMETHING to help them. But they had Fenton, had  _ Gizmoduck  _ cuffed, so what could he or Drake  _ possibly _ do?

With the big plan officially fallen to pieces around them, Launchpad’s priorities had to shift from “get everyone to the manor” to “get Scrooge, still the biggest target, off Killmotor Hill”. At least he could do that much, and thankfully he wasn’t alone, a still somewhat wobbly but resilient as always Drake fast on his heels as they circled the outskirts of the manor. Mr. McD would probably yell at them for disregarding orders when he could more than likely take care of himself, but hey, better to have to beg forgiveness from a person than risk apologizing to a tombstone, right?

The footsteps behind Launchpad skidded to a stop, and he nearly dug a hole with his heel with how quickly he turned. “DW?”

Drake was staring intently into the treeline, his unbruised eye squinting as he nervously straightened his borrowed Balmoral bonnet. 

The woods were silent, and Launchpad was about to suggest whatever Drake heard was nothing, that they should keep moving, when a cry from the darkened forest made the pair jump. 

“VIOLET!”

Launchpad’s blood ran cold.  _ Lena.  _

Drake turned to Launchpad, battered face fixed in a determined glare. “I’ll help the girls. Get Scrooge out of here.”

He took a shaky step towards the treeline, but stopped as Launchpad caught him by the wrist. He glanced over his shoulder, and the look on the pilot’s face struck harder than any fist. If there was an objection in his mind, it didn’t reach his throat, but the desperate look in his eyes said everything. Drake could only hope his own stony expression didn’t hide the reciprocation of an unspoken message.  _ Stay safe. I’ll catch up later. It’ll be okay.  _

Launchpad took a deep breath, letting go of Drake’s wrist. “Go.”

Later on, after he’d finished his own task, after a bitter Scrooge had ridden off with Beakley, after what felt like years of hunkering down at the edge of the property in the rapidly cooling air, waiting for three figures to emerge from the trees, Launchpad would regret all of it. Letting go. Delaying his rescue of the girls in the first place. Saying “go” and not realizing he meant “goodbye”. Not looking back even once as they ran their different ways. 

And not taking Drake aside before the doomed charge up the hill, and hugging him, and thanking him for giving him a reason to believe in heroes again.

~*~

The Sabrewing girls were alive, and aside from Violet gritting her teeth with her hand clamped around her ankle, they appeared unharmed. That was good, at least. Too bad about the group of Moonlanders with their weapons trained on them. Lena was stood in front of her sister with the most violent glare Drake had even seen on a kid (which was saying something, considering how many he’d dished out in his school days), but the wavering spots of purple magic in her palms betrayed the truth: she was outnumbered, running low on either magic or plans to use it, and  _ terrified.  _ She was facing down the very real possibility that she’d have to make a decision: make a break for it, or sacrifice herself for a friend  _ again _ . 

Drake decided to take the option out of her hands, bursting onto the scene and just  _ barely  _ dodging a few stray blaster rounds from the more skittish among the enemy forces, before planting himself between the girls and the soldiers. 

“Leave them alone,” he growled, spreading his arms as he gripped the cape of his highland dress, as if the flimsy fabric would protect them from an incoming salvo, “they’re  _ children.” _

He expected a handful of them, maybe half at most, to lower their weapons when they realized the (admittedly  _ very _ dangerous) opponents they had cornered were kids, so he was almost taken aback when almost  _ all  _ of them yielded, their visors doing little to hide the looks of shock and dawning horror spreading through the ranks. The few weapons still raised had thankfully shifted to train on him, and the short woman at the front spoke into her communicator. 

“Sir, we have Scrooge and some...others. How should we proceed?”

Lunaris’s voice came through loud enough to sense the laughter in his tone, and Drake was surprised to find that he was suddenly  _ more _ eager to deck him in his smug face than before. He hadn’t thought that was possible, but hey, miracles happen.  _ “Scrooge McDuck has already escaped the premises, Palus. You’ve cornered a nobody and some children who think this is a game. Move all prisoners to the manor for holding. Lunaris out.” _

Yeah, out of his damn mind if he thought Drake would let his little makeshift army (of what he was starting to suspect were unprepared civilians, at that) lock up these kids. He took a shaky step forward, trying to ignore the faint whirring of blasters charging up. “Leave them. I’ll go without a fight, just let them g-“

Something in his bruised chest shifted, and he hit the ground with a stuttering wheeze. The pain was excruciating, but the fact that it kept going was at least a reassurance that none of the Moonlanders had gotten antsy and turned him into dust. As much as Drake willed himself to get back up (come on, he’d been through worse than some pissy ribs, this was just plain embarrassing comparatively), the adrenaline that had kept him on his feet since Launchpad had hoisted him back up in front of the house was finally draining from his system. His mouth tasted like copper and static, and what little color the late night allowed the grass pressed against his cheek was starting to go grey as dozens of blows finally made their consequences known. Over the ringing in his ears, he could just barely make out the desperate and bargaining voice of one of the girls. 

“We’ll go quietly, promise. We won’t try to escape. Just... _ please, let me help him.” _

Well, that wasn’t how he planned for this rescue attempt to go. Weren’t they at least allowed a  _ tiny  _ victory?

A small hand curled around one of his, squeezing as tight as possible in an obvious attempt at comfort, and Drake automatically returned the gesture as the grey world tinted a brilliant purple, then faded to black. 

~*~

The ground was already coated in a thin icy layer by the time the inky darkness of the night was giving way to a muted grey of early morning, and Launchpad had to forcibly quiet his troubled mind to focus on not falling. The woods on the property were blessedly quiet; apparently the Moonlanders were confident that after the disastrous failure of the night before, nobody in their right mind would return to the grounds. 

To tell the truth, Launchpad  _ wasn’t  _ in his right mind. He hadn’t been since the moment he realized Drake and the girls wouldn’t be walking out of those woods, battle weary and annoyed but free and safe. And to be honest, he didn’t really know what he was doing back in the woods. What was he hoping to find? The Sabrewing sisters hidden away under a fallen tree? An escape attempt already underway? Drake’s b-

No, he shook the thought out of his head. They were okay. They  _ had  _ to be okay. He wasn’t going to think like that. 

At least, he tried not to think like that. It was hard not to when he spotted a bright fragment of green fabric sticking out of the accumulating snow, and even harder when he dusted the soft powder from the discarded Balmoral bonnet in his hands. 

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Hats weren’t exactly a vital organ, right?

On the other hand, he’d seen and heard what the standard issue Moonlander handguns could do. In this case, maybe an abandoned hat, last spotted covering a nasty bump on his friend’s head, was proof enough. Launchpad inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging his lungs, and he clutched the bonnet to his chest like a precious relic. 

“Come on, DW. Not like this. Where  _ are  _ you?”

_ “Safe.” _

Launchpad nearly jumped out of his skin, and his gaze shot up to the upper branches of the nearest tree. With the leaves stripped off in the sudden shifting weather, the sleek raven perched above stood out against the cold grey of the sky, tilting its head as it looked down on the pilot. Blinking in surprise, Launchpad held out his arm, and the bird immediately hopped down, fluttering it’s long wings as it delicately alighted on the offered perch. The creature was huge, and despite the low light of the artificial winter morning, it’s feathers seemed to shine an ethereal violet. 

Lena. Somehow, this bird was sent by-

“Where are they?”

The bird fluffed up in the cool air, eyes shining intelligently.  _ “Captured. Safe,” _ it croaked in a layered voice that made Launchpad’s ears ring despite the measured volume, “ _ safe.” _

“The girls?”

_ “Violet. Lena. Drake. Captured. Safe.” _

Launchpad sighed in relief, feeling the pressure in his rib cage ebb with the breath. The girls were okay. Drake was alive. The world felt a little less terrifying. “Can you take a message back? Can you tell them….tell them that it’s not over. We’re not giving up.”

The bird bounced a little in place.  _ “Not over. Not giving up.” _

Launchpad nodded, and dropped his arm as the raven took off, circling around the tree before vanishing in a flash of sleek black and luminous purple. Launchpad watched a few scattered feathers as they danced down through the branches in the cold wind, then pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, and headed for the emergency meeting place. 

  
  
  



End file.
